Mafia King by L. Steele

22

Michael

"You," she whispers, "I want you, Michael. I want every depraved, dirty thing that you want to do to me."

My balls harden. Fuck me. How can she say that? How can she lay her innermost desires at my feet? How dare she trust me to do what I want with her? Doesn’t she realize how dangerous that would be? How it would ensnare me, trap me into wanting her, feeling for her, tying her to my side and never letting her go? It would make me want to own her, to make her mine. Mine. And that, I can’t afford. No distractions. Nothing that could touch my heart. That could infiltrate the walls I’ve built around myself.

The fact that she wants everything I can do to her… That she aches for my possession as much I want to own her. That she yearns to be at the receiving end of every filthy, fucked-up, obscene one of my actions… It shows just how well-matched she is for me.

It’s why I must turn away from her. Why I must never be alone with her. Why I must kill her as soon as she’s outlived her usefulness. It’s why I must walk away from her. Just...not yet. Not when she’s tied up and laid out in front of me, asking me to fulfill the perverted fantasies I’ve had ever since I met her the first time.

And if I do, I am a goner. I’ll never be able to leave her. It’s why I need to stay away from her as I had originally planned. A promise I have broken many times over. It’s why I am going to walk away from her right now, before I take that final step that will bind me to her irrevocably.

I grab the knife then slide it back in its sheath.

"What are you doing?" She frowns

I step back, reach for the ribbon that I knotted around her wrist. I tug on it, and it comes free. That’s the beauty of knowing how to tie someone. The process of unbinding takes, maybe, one fourth of the time that it took to truss them up. If only it were that easy to loosen the ties she’s already wrapped around me.

I tug on the fabric and it falls away. I step back and she straightens, then turns on me.

"What’s wrong?" She glances between my eyes, "What happened, Michael?"

I school my features into a mask, "We’re going to be late for our lunch. That’s what happened."

"Lunch?"

I nod.

"But I thought that you—"

"Wanted to fuck your ass?"

She winces, "You had to put that out there, didn’t you?"

"Just saying what’s on your mind, sweetheart."

"If you think that’s going to make me feel embarrassed, think again." She firms her lips, "You went to all that trouble of tying me up. You wouldn’t have done that if you hadn’t meant to…uh, fuck me."

"Told you, I enjoy tying people up. It’s a skill of mine. Doesn’t mean I fuck everyone I tie up."

"And those who you tie up and fuck, do you use your knife on them too?"

I draw myself up to my full height. "That’s none of your business."

I turn and walk toward the exit.

"Michael," she calls out, "one of these days, you are going to have to tell me why you keep running away from me."

"You’re mistaken." I glance over my shoulder and brush away a loose thread from the ribbon. "You need to care about someone enough to have any reaction to them, none of which pertains to this situation."

She pushes her shoulders back and glares at me. "You’re an unfeeling asshole."

"Now that we have established that," I glance at her over my shoulder, "wait here while I get you an outfit from the car, so you can get dressed."

Half an hour later, I sit across from her as she glances around the space.

"Capo." Paolo walks up with his usual glower on his face. You’d expect a man of his girth, who runs the most popular restaurant in Palermo, to be the quintessential happy, jowly-faced proprietor who’d go out of his way to keep his clients happy. The reality couldn’t be further from that. Paulo is the most ill-tempered man I know. He was just born that way, apparently. But his Spaghetti alle vongole is to die for.

He begins to talk to me in Italian and I gesture to Beauty. "English, please," I murmur.

He glances at Karma, then at me, "The usual, Capo?"

"For me, yes. For her…" I tilt my head, "She’s allergic to seafood."

"Spaghetti Aglio Olio e Pepperoncino for the lady then," he states. "And a carafe of the house white?"

"Please." I nod as Karma opens her mouth, likely to protest. But Paulo has already turned to leave.

"Before you ask," I turn to her, "there is no menu here. You get whatever Paulo has made for the day."

"Huh?" She blinks, "So he decides what you are going to eat?"

"He’s the expert, and whatever he cooks is the best you can find in the city on that day, so yeah, you get what he’s cooked."

She takes in the tables and chairs in the small space, all packed to capacity. The dining hall opens onto the sea on one side. On the other is the kitchen, open to the guests, so you can see the chefs cooking while Paulo assembles the plates behind one of the counters.

"You come here often?" she asks with her head still turned away.

"Often enough."

"Is Paulo a friend?"

I chuckle. "That asshole is nobody’s friend."

"So why do you come here, then?"

I tilt my head, "You still don’t get it, do you?"

"What?"

"The food, Beauty, the food."

She scowls, "Still, you could have, at least, let me ask him what the options were."

I simply shake my head. "That’s not how it works."

"What do you mean?"

"Firstly, you don’t get a choice. You eat what he gets you. Secondly, even if there were a choice, I would have ordered for you."

She gapes. "Is that presumptuous, or what?"

"Be thankful I allowed you out of the house on this outing." I smirk.

"Big-bloody-deal," she murmurs under her breath.

"What did you say?"

"I meant," she clears her throat, "thank you." She coughs.

"That’s what I’m talking about."

Just then, Giorgio arrives with our food. He places a plate of the Vongole in front of me and the Aglio Olio in front of Karma. He pours the wine into glasses, then sets out glasses of water, and fresh bread with a little receptacle containing olive oil. "Buon Appetito." He steps back, then leaves.

The scent of the pepper, parmigiana, and the intense fresh aroma of the vongole permeates the air. My mouth waters. I reach for my fork, twirl the pasta and take a bite. The plump, briny taste of the clams fills my mouth. The fresh pasta crowns the experience. I break off a piece of the fresh bread, dip it in the white wine sauce, and pop it inside my mouth. So fucking good. A groan rumbles from my chest. I glance up to find her staring at me. She hasn’t touched her food.

"Eat," I gesture to her spaghetti.

She twirls some of the strands around her fork, just like I had taught her, and brings it up to her mouth. She wraps her tongue around the tines and wipes it clean. My dick twitches and blood drains to my groin. I watch as she closes her eyes, chews, then a moan bleeds from her lips. She snaps her eyelids open, stares down at her plate, "Wow… That was…"

"Almost as good as an orgasm?"

"Yep," she nods, "I have to say, on this occasion, I agree."

She scoops up more of the pasta, and I do the same. We eat in relative silence until our plates are wiped clean.

"That was incredible." She licks her lips, as she reaches for her wine glass and drains it. Warmth suffuses my chest. The sight of her content and radiating satisfaction does strange things to me. I want to always take care of her, feed her good food, take her to my other favorite restaurants… Be with her as she explores the culinary delights of my heritage…

Hold on, what the hell am I thinking about here? What the hell is wrong with me that I am suddenly envisioning a future with her?

Paolo ambles over to stand between us. He surveys our now empty plates, places his palms over his wide girth, "Dolce, Capo?"

"Yes," she says eagerly, "I’d love to eat whatever dessert you have made today."

"No," I snap, "we’re done here."

He turns to me, a frown on his face, "You are leaving without having my dessert?"

Yeah, I know. Sacrilege. Not something I’d do on any other day. But right now, I need to get this scrumptious piece of temptation away from me and back in the cage I have created for her. Before I do anything else I am going to regret.

I rise to my feet. "Grazie Paolo." I add in a conciliatory tone, "Maybe next time."

He glances between us, then turns to Beauty, "Buongiorno, Principessa." He half bows to her, "Did you enjoy your meal?"

"It was…" she searches for the right word, "incredible. The best pasta I have ever eaten. And such a simple dish… I can’t believe you put all those ingredients together and came up with something so amazing."

Paolo’s features light up. "I am so pleased that you liked it. You come back anytime." He turns to me, "Make sure you bring her back with you, Capo."

I stare. Paolo actually smiling, and being civil, and to someone he’s never met before? That has to be a first. Clearly, I am not the only one who is falling under her spell. I scowl up at him, but he doesn’t seem to notice. "You take good care of her, Capo." He holds my gaze.

I nod and he seems satisfied.

A young man scurries up to him with a paper packet which he hands to Karma. "Dolce for the dolce." He grins down at her and my jaw falls open. What the hell? Paolo actually allowed a take-away of his precious dolce? Unheard off. He treats his food with too much respect to do that. In fact, I can’t recall a single instance before this when he’s actually packed his food in a take-away container. But he did it for her?

Che cazzo!

I jerk my chin, dismissing Paolo, who glances between us again. A sly look comes into his eyes, but he doesn’t say anything else. He nods once more to both of us, then turning, he saunters off.

"Well, that was rude." Karma scowls, "You all but told him to fuck off, and after he was being so nice to us."

"It’s Paolo," I raise a shoulder, "he can handle it."

"What set you off now?" She glowers up at me. "Seriously, your moods are worse than a woman on her period."

"That was an incredibly sexist remark to make," I chide her.

She laughs. "You should talk. The most misogynistic, most toxic, meanest man I have ever encountered."

I tip an imaginary hat down at her.

"Only you would take it as a compliment."

I smirk, "Don’t tell me you don’t find it attractive?"

"Certainly, not." She scowls.

"Don’t lie to me, Beauty." I widen my stance, "There’s something inside of you that relishes the fact that I don’t hide behind meaningless niceties. That you see me and you know what you get. That I don’t conceal exactly how perverted I am." I lower my chin to my chest as I hold her gaze, "That you know exactly how sordid my thoughts are, and that my actions are even more debauched… And something within you is relieved that my warped tastes give you the permission to unlock all the lustful emotions you have kept to yourself. That—" I place my hands on the chair on either side of her and bracket her in, "the corrupt truth inside of you feeds off of my deviance, indeed wants to embrace my every obscene act… If I let you. Only, I won’t."

"You won’t?" She blinks.

"I won’t," I reiterate. "For you see, you are an asset, first and foremost. A gorgeous one, one with the kind of baseness that I hadn’t expected…but an asset, nevertheless. One I am in no mood to break in, regardless of how tempting that may be. No, you, Beauty, are my property, and I intend to ensure that I leverage you for the purpose for which I kidnapped you in the first place. You’re my captive, nothing more, and it you would do well to remember that."

"As if you’ll ever let me forget," she mutters.

"Good, we understand each other then." I jerk my chin, "You should know that it’s time for you to fulfill your role, Beauty."